It’s hard to know how much to reveal about my life, especially where Odie’s privacy is concerned. Sometimes I’d like to write about subjects like my marriage in depth, but I know Odie wouldn’t want that out there. I suppose if the tables were on the other foot, I wouldn’t like him revealing private things about me either. We’ve been going through a rough patch. All marriages have them, I hear. Back when our relationship was new, I could not imagine our marriage having rough patches. I believed us to be so uniquely suited to one another, so in love in an unprecedented way, that the rules didn’t apply to us. Silly, naive beliefs of someone deeply infatuated. All of our problems have been textbook new parent problems. Nothing unique there.
I want to blog all about it. Tell you every detail of our painful arguments and cold silences. It would be cathartic for me, and perhaps helpful to you in some way. A cautionary tale of marriage and parenthood. But I think I have to settle for telling it to the marriage counselor we will soon be seeing. That’s another thing I couldn’t imagine back in those heady days of early infatuation: going to a marriage counselor. I thought it was a sure sign of a marriage heading for divorce, the last futile attempt to fix something irreparably broken. Or a half-hearted concession on the part of one partner to appease the other before leaving, so they could tell their friends they tried everything. The truth is, Odie and I don’t communicate well since we had Baby V. Each of us makes assumptions about the thoughts and motivations of the other and then reacts to them. It’s a negative and damaging pattern. For example, Odie loves sexytimes. He’s SUCH a boy that way. To him, sexytimes are the ultimate expression of love and devotion. Nothing says “I love you” like a romp in the sack. Conversely, if I don’t romp in the sack with him, it means I no longer love him. It means I hate him. It means I think he’s a disgusting, horrible person. Assumptions are very dangerous. So we are going to marriage counseling to get someone objective to tell Odie that I am right and he is wrong.
No, to teach us to communicate better and compromise more.
Right now, Odie is talking to me about the teams in today’s World Cup Soccer game, and I am trying to listen with one ear while I type. He is using Baby V’s toy saxophone to make an improvised vuvuzela (yeah, lucky me). He got up early to wash his one orange shirt so that he could help the Netherlands win by wearing orange. We also have Baby V dressed in orange, because this will make all the difference in whether or not the Dutch beat Uruguay. The game is about to start. We never watch tv together. TV is a passion of mine, and he couldn’t care less about it. It’s actually nice to have something we are both watching. He is on the verge of feeling like I do not care what he is saying because I am writing instead of responding to him, so off I go for now. Oranje!